TWO YEARS. It's been two years since I've held her, kissed her, touched her, made love to her. Being inside her again is like coming home, but I wasn't as happy as I thought I'd be.
She changed herself, over and over, getting piercings, contacts, dyeing her hair; just to get away from me.
Even now, with her grey eyes locked on mine just like I like, I feel like she's just complying with me, so she get away.
Her skin is warm to the touch but she's cold. She's scared of me. She's wary of me. Soon, she'll hate me.
Her sleeping figure leans into me, snuggling deeper into my touch as I stroke her cheek. My finger traces all those familiar lines, my Kitty.
I'm a possessive man, and this woman is mine. She knows that, and yet she lets men touch her, she flirts with them.
Thankfully she hasn
